Solidarty Along The Dirty, Sacred River, Part 3 -- The ORR, and News From the Halls of Higher Yearning

We Are All Cone Man

Updates: The ORR

I've written in the past about #respondent53 and this person's role in my illegal and unjust termination and banishment from JCTC and the entire KCTCS system. The Office of General Counsel /Lizard Overlords of the Apocalypse responded to my Open Records Request (ORR) with a barely complete personnel file and disk of files ranging from a copy of the ADA statute (which I read) and the Faculty Handbook (which I read again) as well as a few other bits and pieces.

Some of you may recall The Cone Man Saga. That little stunt, while getting me the ear of the President without having to go through the usual channels of blockage, obfuscation, and, outright lies, also put on the radar of folks who are overpaid and thin-skinned.

The administrative response to that particular blog was interesting, though I'm sure it helped raise my readership.* One particularly thin-skinned #badmin, who apparently hasn't breathed real air or been around the proles in quite some time whined:

It's awful. He's mocking us.

Another, whose skin is so thin as to be translucent, wrote:

The fact that he is so comfortable ridiculing us makes me angry.

Clearly, they don't know me well. I came out of the womb mocking presumed assumed authority figures.

There are some other gems, such as recommendations that I need to get over myself, and that I am hard to be kind to. Of course their version of kind would have me selling pencils out of a tin cup on the street... before they called in the cops themselves to have me arrested. 

I'm still ferreting out #respondent53. It's possible that #respondent53 is a couple of people... one of whom, according to my ORR, works in the office of  Institutional Research. She sent the Facebook post related to my alleged FERPA violation to Frankfort on her very own KCTCS email, on the condition that "[her] name be kept out of it." Cowards and kiss asses are so easy to pick out of the crowd. In some early conversations with around the old camp fire about #respondent53, I posited her as a potential candidate. But I'm not certain she acted alone. And, in fact some details I still need to verify before I can name names indicates that she did not act alone. 

One of the things that is becoming very clear: even paranoids have enemies. Even me.

News From the Halls of Higher Yearning

A friendly bird and comrade forwarded this little tidbit to me, straight from the outbox of newly crowned President/CEO and El Hefe of KCTCS:

I am pleased to share that the board approved a raise of (1% or $1000 ) for every regular full-time KCTCS faculty/staff member employed before April 1, 2015 who earned at least the “Fully Met Job Requirements”(M) rating in the 2014-15 KCTCS performance evaluation system.

I know this is only a modest increase, and we would have done more if the budget allowed.  It is important to note the $1000 increase is as much as a 4 % raise for some of our employees in the lowest pay bands.  Additionally, the $1000 will have a greater economic impact than a flat percentage raise for the majority of our employees. 

PLEASE NOTE: ADJUNCTS ARE NOT INCLUDED IN THE FOLKS WHO GET THIS INCREASE -- OR SO I'M TOLD.

SOLIDARITY!

I want to thank everyone again who signed the petition to have me reinstated without prejudice. If you'd still like to, or if you want to pass it around, here it is.

A friend and Fellow Worker, J.P. Wright, has started a small support fund. If you'd like to contribute, go here.

Some have expressed an interest in writing letters of support of my reinstatement. Here are some addresses:

• Insider Louisville: Sarah Kelley, VP of Content and Editorial Director: sarah@insiderlouisville.com.
• Louisville Courier Journal: 
• http://archive.courier-journal.com/interactive/article/99999999/CUST/80212021/Letters-Editor
  JCTC Human Resources: Toni Whalen, Head of Human Resources at JCTC: toni.whalen@kctcs.edu
• KCTCS Head of Human Resources: Jackie Cecil: jackie.cecil@kctcs.edu

Solidarity Along the Dirty, Sacred River, Part 2: Action

Updates

A wise man is one who realizes that pissing off a donkey will only make him kick. With any luck, you've seen the Insider Louisville  article by David Serchuk about my situation. Some crucial information that is awaiting authentication was left out; but with any luck, when my open records request is answered (I was notified by email this week that it is forthcoming), there will be more, which I mentioned in my previous post. There are some updates, however, that I can talk about prior to seeing what the KCTCS Office of Legal Counsel releases.

1. After some some research and the help of some supportive friends, I've learned that the National Labor Relations Board laid down no less than 4 decisions against employers using social media posts as a justification for firing an employee. 
2. While it is true that I was a fixed-contract/ at will employee, the fact is that their dramatic bushwack of a meeting had nothing to do with terminating my employment for any of the vague reasons given by Lisa Brodsky or the spokeswoman for KCTCS, Kristin Middleton.  
3. Toni Whalen, head of HR at the Louisville campus said specifically, in this meeting, that the FERPA violation would be the reason for termination listed in personnel file -- not that a class didn't make (it did, I was on my way to teach it), or that there was no need (the current adjuncts are stretched and exploited as it is). It could fall under the generic heading of "administrative matters." 
4. If my termination were simply a matter of either 1) them not needing staff or 2) the class not making, all they had to do -- and all they would normally do -- is inform me over email, generally through my department chair. Had they done that, I might not have just cause for retaliation. It would have been a suspicious termination, but a legal one nonetheless.

Something else to consider is the fact that while the Facebook post may be a rare example of one my less than stellar social media moments, the fact is, all the information in that post is covered by an exception listed in FERPA:

"Another exception permits a school to non-consensually disclose personally identifiable information from a student's education records when such information has been appropriately designated as directory information. "Directory information" is defined as information contained in the education records of a student that would not generally be considered harmful or an invasion of privacy if disclosed. Directory information could include information such as the student's name, address, e-mail address, telephone listing, photograph, date and place of birth, major field of study, participation in officially recognized activities and sports, weight and height of members of athletic teams, dates of attendance, degrees and awards received, the most recent previous educational agency or institution attended, grade level or year (such as freshman or junior), and enrollment status (undergraduate or graduate; full-time or part-time)."

And, in spite of what people outside the inner halls of higher yearning institutions, FERPA offenses -- be they alleged, borderline, or confirmed -- are not handled directly by the Academic Dean, the head of HR, and the Provost.  If this situation had been handled SIMPLY ON THE MERITS THEY CLAIMED IN THE MEETING, I would have

1. been called to a meeting with my department chair and given a severe tongue lashing; and
2. ordered to undergo a FERPA counseling session...

both of which would have been marked in my personnel file.

I haven't even gone into detail about the administrative path my termination took. That's some murky shit, friends and readers.

And that, along with more about the scab otherwise known as #respondent53, is for a later post.

Please Help

I want to thank everyone who signed the petition to have me reinstated without prejudice. If you'd still like to, or if you want to pass it around, here it is.

A friend and Fellow Worker, J.P. Wright, has started a small support fund. If you'd like to contribute, go here.

Some have expressed an interest in writing letters of support of my reinstatement. Here are some addresses:

Insider Louisville: Sarah Kelley, VP of Content and Editorial Director: sarah@insiderlouisville.com.

LEO Weekly: Aaron Yarmuth Executive Editor:  ayarmuth@leoweekly.com

Louisville Courier Journal: 
http://archive.courier-journal.com/interactive/article/99999999/CUST/80212021/Letters-Editor

JCTC Human Resources: Toni Whalen, Head of Human Resources at JCTC: toni.whalen@kctcs.edu

KCTCS Head of Human Resources: Jackie Cecil: jackie.cecil@kctcs.edu

REMEMBER: THIS IS NOT JUST ABOUT ME. THEIR EXTREMELY UN-PROPORTIONAL REACTION SHOWS THAT MY FIRING WAS NOTHING LESS THAN AN ATTEMPT TO SILENCE ME. ACTIVISTS ALL OVER THE COUNTRY ARE BEING SINGLED OUT AND RETALIATED AGAINST.

Gator People Live In The River: Schlubbus Interruptus

He that is robbed, not wanting what is stol'n, Let him not know't, and he's not robbed at all. - Shakespeare

I was planning on writing about tomatoes.

No. Really. The gauntlet being thrown down, Amanda and I cooked down and froze, liquified, or canned 50 pounds of tomatoes. Of course, 50 pounds of tomatoes  preprocessed takes up a hell of a lot more space and seems more onerous than 50 pounds of post-processed tomatoes. And the scope of it all would probably be more impressive had I elected to use pint jars instead of quart jars for the shelf stable maters that are currently occupying shelf space in the basement. 

But alas, Dear Readers, that is not the tale I am allotted to tell today, because my phone was stolen, along with the picture of the tomatoes that I was planning on using.

Not to be thwarted, however, I will replace it with an albeit less useful, but more plot-driven and predictable stand-in.

I walked into the Writing Center this past Tuesday -- one of my jobby jobs -- and it was slammed. I was all of two minutes late because of a brief stopover at the Iroquois Branch of the Free Louisville Library. Between that and an unexpected illness, the Center was unmanned for all of those two minutes, during which time everything went to hell. There was only one scheduled tutoring appointment, but the internet was down and no could print or check Facebook (gasp!). 

There were some actual writing issues that people had questions about, and I was fluttering around between students, answering questions, and trying my best to portray an IT Guy (WHICH I AM NOT NOW NOR EVER SHALL BE). It's understandable that students could be easily confused, since the Writing Center is configured like a computer lab, thanks to the fascist tactics of the IT Department and their Draconian insistence that straight rows of computers make for functional space in a Humanities driven Writing Center. They are not known for their interpersonal skills and therefore do not understand or intuit that a Writing Center is a place meant to foster communication, not to be a farm of computer banks where the sex deprived can pleasure themselves to uploaded episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Dollhouse.

I will admit, I should have kept a better eye on my phone. But I did not. At some point between 3:57m and 4:15pm, my phone grew legs, walked out the door, boarded a bus to 3rd Street and Kingston, and later ended up on Hale Ave on the west side. According to the GPS tracker the address is somewhere around this quaint meth den:

Of course, I made a report to campus security. Not because I expected to get my phone back, but to establish a paper trail in case the schlub who stole my phone decided to go on a technology-grabbing frenzy.

Now, if you know me, I have a sort of ethical flexibility when it comes to theft. For me, it's all about context. People stealing for food or shelter don't bother me. Legalized corporate or government sanctioned theft offends me deeply. And if you know me, you also know that I am perfectly content without a cell phone and keep one primarily because there are still a few people who would like to be able to get in touch with me. 

(And NO. They are not ALL bill collecting parasites.)  

(When I'm Out and About, I turn it off frequently, as much to free myself of it as to save the battery.)

I was bothered less by the actual theft of the phone -- let's be honest, it was probably only a matter of time -- than by the fact that a student stole it. Yes, it's a downtown campus in what some people consider a dangerous part of River City. Yes, I am aware that not everyone holds my view on the ethics of stealing.  And yes, I have been betrayed by a student before. Higher education is shark tank, not a kiddie pool. 

But I do insist on holding to my ideals. Otherwise, why have them? Ideals are not necessarily reflective of what happens. They are reflective of what ought to happen.

And that a student stole from me -- a student I was probably helping with a writing problem or half-heartedly trying to help with a tech issue I am not trained nor interested in being trained for -- was and is more of a violation than the theft of the phone.

The other thing that offends and violates me is the sheer stupidity of the schlub. I prefer not to use the term "thief" because that implies a level of intelligence that is nonexistent in this case. 

Politicians are thieves. Lawyers are thieves. Bankers are thieves. 

Schlubs who pinch my phone and think that I will not find a way to make them regret it are not thieves. They are schlubs and do not deserve my consideration.

I was able to lock the phone and track it within a block of their residence. The phone also has another function: I set it to beep loudly for two minutes every time they turned it on. The phone also has another function - setting a text message to display on the lock screen. 

I used that as an opportunity to communicate with them. Or taunt them, if you will.

But after a full 12 hours or so of insulting him, his mother, and pointing out his precise location, I got bored and set the phone to erase. I may not get my phone back, but they won't get access to any of my shit -- including the picture of our canned maters, which I was going to proudly post. 

It is important to point out, however that in spite of the sheer schlubbiness of the schlub, that two different people -- neither of whom are related to me -- offered to let me use their old phones until I get a new one. The negative effect of a single schlub does not stand a chance against the positive impact of two genuinely nice people -- which, believe it or not, reflects my deeper idealism more than any metaphor I can conjure.

Gator People Live in the River, 3.2: Blue Horse

There's nothing worse than being put in a position where you have to explain yourself to someone who may not be worth the time, the effort, or the energy expenditure. I make it a habit to NOT explain myself. I think of self-explanations as the same as having to tell someone why a joke is funny. If you have tell someone why the horse being blue in August is funny, then you've wasted your time.

When I left JCTC after concluding the first half of my HR Paperwork Blitzkrieg, I drove back down Third Street to the University of Louisville. After finding some creative parking, I made my way onto campus and into the Bingham Humanities Building.

The building is built in the shape a rectangle. This would lead one to believe that the building is easy to navigate.  Once inside, however, the combination of knock off Frank Lloyd Wright minimalism, asynchronous office numbers, and Dantesque signage is clearly designed to confuse the first time sucker rather than inculcate him with a sense of warmth similar to the last stage of hypothermia.

After stepping off the elevator and walking far longer than I thought thought I should have needed to down off season academic hallways, I found the right office. But Linda, the person I was supposed to talk to, wasn't there. Instead, I was greeted with a Post-It note informing me that she was in some room in the basement.

Fuck me, there's a basement to this place? Is that where they imprison failing graduate students and abandoned developmental writing programs?

My intention was to try and find Linda in the basement. Except that I couldn't find the elevator again. It was as if the wall had simply swallowed it up, along with any hint of a stairwell.

Salvation came eventually in the person of Linda, who said she was glad she hadn't missed me.

Is there really an exit, I asked, or is it just an existential concept?

Linda blinked the way a dog blinks after being told to stop chewing on a slipper. I have been told before that I should not tell jokes because my delivery stinks. I reject this criticism, however, based on the fact that humor is as much about context as tone. And within the context of being new to the university, being new to Louisville, as a matter of fact -- something that was very much known to my new soon-to-be bosses at U of L -- and being a last minute hire to teach a class, I figured that I'd have a shot at a chuckle. Sartre references almost always work, and secretaries are not immune to the malaise of academic idea entendre.

And she blinked.

I have the utmost respect for secretaries and janitors because they run the world. The people who file your W-2 and the people who clean public bathrooms are more important to the overall running of the world than any administrator, politician, or cop. And I had no intention of confusing or upsetting Linda. I was merely trying to relax, be friendly.

We rolled past the awkward beginning and into the paperwork. When we got to the I-9 I produced both my Ohio Driver's License and my passport card -- the latter of which should have been enough (as per Column A.)

She blinked.

I think I need your social security card.

I don't carry it. The passport usually works.

She blinked.

I'm pretty sure I need your social security card.

I don't carry it. It's ragged. It's my original social security card. You're not allowed to laminate it. It's as thin as toilet paper.

She xeorxed a copy of both my driver's license and my passport, but would not let go of the social security card.

Fine, I said. I'll bring it with me to orientation.

On my way to U of L, I had decided to tell them about the criminal background check snafu at JCTC.  I considered it a form of professional courtesy. Though my initial face to face contact with Linda had given me some reservations about following through, I ignored that instinct and went on ahead with my well-intended disclosure. After all, it was funny. Right?

She blinked.

I explained it again.

She blinked.

I asked if I needed to write a note to HR or something, just to keep on file.

She blinked. Then she sat down at her computer as if she intended to write an email to HR herself. She offered to let me write an email myself. But, she pointed out, the HR person was gone for the day (after 2pm on a Friday) and would not see it until Monday anyway.

I told her I'd send it over the weekend or some other time. I had her lead me out to the elevator --which, magically appeared not 20 steps from her office door.

Once I escaped, I made for a nice well lit place with cold beer.

Gator People Live in the River, 3.1: The Question

Americans may have no identity, but they do have wonderful teeth. -- Jean Baudrillard

The moving finger writes, and having written moves on. Nor all thy piety nor all thy wit, can cancel half a line of it. -- Omar Khayyam

Apparently 1996 was a good year to be me.

Or, it wasn't, depending on your point of view. To be honest, I remember very little of 1996. There was a lot worth forgetting. I had somehow managed to talk myself back into school, with the intention of finishing my Bachelor's degree. My only intention was to get out of the Blue Ash, Ohio pillow factory I was working in. The job itself wasn't bad, but I was tired of leaving at the end of my shift looking like I'd been tarred and feathered. Moreover, I was tired of FEELING like I'd been tarred and feathered.

The late 90's for me were mostly a matter of trying to untangle myself from the decisions of the early 90's. An early marriage that had turned into a bloody fucking divorce. Attempts to drown unanswered grief, self-loathing, and anger in cheap beer and even cheaper whiskey.  Failed attempts at college in spite of having every tool and reason to succeed. I was socially awkward, a secondary character in my own life, and I felt overshadowed by the large personalities around me.

My life was turning into Bret Easton Ellis novel -- which, if you've read him, is bad on every narrative and aesthetic level.

But, apparently, I still had one thing going for me.

My credit rating was still good. 

At the time this didn't seem like anything worth celebrating. Someone else felt differently, however, because he (or she?) promptly stole my identity only to be arrested and convicted in New Jersey for felony conspiracy. (Case #96000890)

Sometimes life shifts whether you see it or not. And even though I wasn't aware, my life had gone from Less Than Zero to The Sopranos. Better writing, to be sure. There's always that.

I was blissfully unaware of this shift, however, until last week. I discovered my felonious status thanks to the Department Chair at one of my new The-Universe-Is-Kind gigs at Jefferson Community and Technical College. Thanks to some last minute shuffling, a class needed teaching and I nagged enough to merit consideration. Stacy, the Chair, hired me on the merit of my CV, which, I admit, makes me look pretty good.  I have a lot of experience in spite of appearing to do very little. A criminal background check is part of the screening process. This is nothing new -- I've signed off on plenty of these forms over the years. Most of the time, they look for felonies, which I have personally never been arrested, tried, or convicted of. On the tediously repetitive HR form I always indicate that I have never been convicted of a felony. Sometimes I get the job. Sometimes I don't. When people don't hire you, they aren't really obligated to tell you WHY. Generally, this is a good thing. If you screwed up the interview or if you smell or if they just aren't that into you, it's not always something you want to know about.

When I came back from visiting The Kid in Virginia, I packed a few things and drove down river to Louisville for an HR Paperwork Blitzkrieg. Two institutions. Two sets of paperwork. I also wanted a sit down with the chair at JCTC, and she wanted one with me.

The English Department at JCTC is housed in the old Louisville Presbyterian Seminary... an interestingly gothic structure that I would not have thought a Presbyterian would want to house anything in. There are no water fountains or snack machines in the building because that would make the hallways too narrow to conform to city fire codes. But it is an architecturally interesting building.

from hellolouisville.com

I knew I'd get along with Stacy because she was wearing jeans and because she has a nose ring. I realize those things, in and of themselves, seem superficial. But sometimes superficial details can offer a wellspring of information about a person.

We chatted for a bit. James, the Writing Center Coordinator (where I am also getting some work hours) sat in for a while. Then he left.

Then Stacy brought up the criminal background check. She was a bit uncomfortable. She referenced a conviction in New Jersey. A felony conviction.

Now, Dear Readers, you probably remember when my travel journal and ID were lifted in a Minnesota casino. Identity and being able to prove who you are is increasingly important in these, the early days of the Nationalist States of America. Even Facebook (the free market arm of the techno-fascist empire) requires that you use your "real name" on your profile. And I won't go into detail about the various ways in which the NSA has the ability to invade our privacy and track everything from the color of our socks to the consistency of our bowel movements.

So when I heard that I was apparently convicted in New Jersey -- a state I have never been to, unless the train rolled through it at night once -- in 1996 of felony conspiracy, I laughed.

Stacy told me she looked at my CV when the check came back and saw that there was no way it could have been me -- I was in Morehead, finishing my BA. Which, of course, I was. We had a chuckle about it and moved on. James wandered back around.

Oh, so I guess you asked him the question?

We all had a chuckle. And I took some solace in knowing that when I was the least interested in being me, apparently someone else felt differently.

Not bad for my first day of living in Louisville.